


I'll Make a Note of It

by Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Promised Day, Tentative Romance, Unconventional communication, with a hint of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains/pseuds/Pearl_Pilots_In_Chains
Summary: That was the day he arrived to find a slip of paper tucked into the drawer of his desk directly in front of his seat. A position where it was almost impossible for him to miss, but equally difficult for anyone else to notice.~~~~~Roy and Riza find a way to say what they need to say.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	I'll Make a Note of It

**Author's Note:**

> Some Royai fun I wrote a while back (as in 2013, to be exact), but never published. I gave it a quick proofread, and tried to clean it up a bit (and also changed it to be more in line with how I currently write, considering I'm not a huge fan of my style at that time). I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This fic makes pretty heavy use of the code Mustang and Hawkeye use in the series to communicate (because I was a little too fascinated with it after watching FMAB for the first time). A quick reminder for anyone who might want it, the code works like this: the first letter of each proper name in the 'decoy' message combine to spell out the actual message. For example: Nicholas told Oliver and Peter to stop by Elizabeth's place to pick her up = nope.

It had started months ago.Almost exactly a year ago now, actually, Roy realized.When he had still been a colonel, before the promotion.In the early days after his release from the hospital.The initial period of readjustment.Of getting used to seeing again.Of getting used to working again.Moving again.Living again.The last days he planned to spend in Central for a good while.He wasn’t eager to return.He could do with a few years away.Central was too close to all of it now.The memories, the pain.The near-losses.The real losses.

He had been given back a temporary posting before his transfer to the Ishvalan region.He had known it was honestly nothing more than a placeholder.But the work was important nonetheless.Reconstruction, not wholly unlike what he was doing now, in all actuality.His only regret, in both cases, was that he hadn’t been able to reassemble his team.He didn’t really think he would ever be able to.There were some things that couldn’t be put back together once they came apart. The friendships would remain however, he had no doubt of that.

And furthermore, Riza was still at his side.Somehow, that seemed to overshadow all the partings.As long as she was there, he was anchored.He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had left as well.He didn’t want to dwell on it.

He remembered the day when it happened for the first time.It was ordinary, routine, run-of-the-mill even.He had been going over progress reports with Riza.She had been reading off some of the important highlights, while he pretended to look over the accompanying tables.He had been tired, the result of a restless night before. He had discovered that nasty memories had a habit of making reappearances in the form of dreams.

He had tried to focus, he really had.The effort had been in vain.He estimated he had heard every third sentence or so.The tables, on the other hand, had really looked like nothing more than an undecipherable mass of lines and numbers.He couldn’t come out and say that of course.It hadn’t mattered that she probably would have understood, if he had explained.It was possible that she wouldn’t even have asked.That she would merely have accepted it.She knew about his nightmares, from times in his room at the hospital. She had been there when he tore at the sheets and screamed at the ceiling, until his eyes tore open and stared unseeing into the abyss, his breaths coming fast and ragged.And yet, still, his pride wouldn’t let him come out and acknowledge his exhaustion.

He had started writing while she spoke, an attempt to improve his concentration.An action to keep him present, keep him grounded.Just textual rambling on the back corner of one of the sheets, really.He had assumed Riza would view it as note-taking, nothing more.Appropriate.Responsible, even.The action of someone who was coherent, rational, unbroken.

He hadn’t intended to write anything in particular.He’d simply let whatever passed through his mind pass out through the pen onto the paper.It was plausible then, that the result wasn’t intentional.Or at least, that it hadn’t been a conscious decision.His exhaustion then, must have been the culpable party.Perhaps his subconscious was also at fault.

The message that ended up on the page read, ‘Yuri took Owen over to Uriel’s house to meet up with Rafael.They talked about Evan’s trip to Yakima with Eve and Stefan.Afterwards, they walked over to Amos’s apartment, where Rafael said Evan was staying.It turned out that Balasi was also looking for Evan at Amos’s place, which Uriel found amusing.They agreed to leave before Taran and Iliya arrived.They all headed to Festus’s house next, where Uriel said Lily would meet them.’

A whole lot of nonsense to most people.A pointless paragraph.The type of writing that could be done unconsciously.And yet, it had meant something to him.He could discern the words behind the ink.And he had known someone else would also be capable of doing so.A certain someone who he hadn’t really been listening to, and had ended up asking him if he was paying attention.He had done best to assure her he was, but she didn’t seem convinced.

He wasn’t sure why he had made the leap he made when the day ended.Because it was indeed a leap.A dangerous leap, really.But maybe not as dangerous as it would have been at one time.He supposed, in retrospect, that perhaps there was some reasoning in his choice, even if he still told himself that his lack of sleep and all-purpose haze on that day had been to blame.

There had been no one else in that office who had worked with them before.No one who would have had a decent chance of putting the pieces together from past experience, and reading what wasn’t said, unlike some of his own squad might have been able to.Even if they had seen the scrap of paper on her desk, they probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought.He suspected that they might not necessarily have even recognized his handwriting.The message, the real one, was safe from prying eyes.Only the recipient would grasp it.That security had been part of what prompted him.

The other force then, had been the fact that Hawkeye had left before him.Somewhat of a rarity really.She had been meeting one Rebecca Catalina for dinner that night, to discuss something Catalina had labelled “important” (Roy wouldn’t find out what exactly that was for some time, though when he eventually did, he wasn’t all that surprised.He did recall Catalina accompanying Havoc on one or two of the occasions when his former subordinate had visited him during his convalescence).As a result, he had ended up with the office all to himself at the end of the day.Something which he would have considered downright unpleasant at an earlier date, but which he saw as opportunity on that particular evening.

He had torn the corner off of the page.Slipped it halfway under a stack of files on her desk, the table portion facing upward.There was a chance she wouldn’t even notice it.It would inconspicuous enough.If that was the case, he had told himself that it would be a sign.That it was a foolish thing in the first place.He'd left before he could second guess himself.

The doubting hadn’t kicked in until later that night.Eventually, his mind had cleared enough for him to panic.He had almost considered going back in to the office, purely to remove the slip of paper.He had argued to himself that it would look far too strange if anyone caught him practically sneaking back into his office in the middle of the night.It was best to simply hope for the best, that being that Hawkeye never saw it.

He should have known (and perhaps he had known, but merely refused to admit to himself) that this was unlikely, if not impossible.Her name wasn’t inaccurate, after all,She hadn’t given any sign, of course.It wasn’t as if she had confronted him, or anything so direct.That wasn’t her style.Not when it came to well . . . them.The next day had been normal, no indications that anything had changed.As had the day after that.It was the third day that had deviated.

That was the day that he had arrived to find a slip of paper tucked into the drawer of his desk directly in front of his seat.A position where it was almost impossible for him to miss, but equally difficult for anyone else to notice.He had glanced at it when he found it, just long enough to ascertain to whom the handwriting belonged.He had read it that night, in the privacy of his apartment.

‘Yuri gave Oscar a call yesterday to ask if Uriel had stopped by recently.He said he hadn’t, but that Rafael had, accompanied by Hajime and Amos.He also mentioned the interesting fact that Iliya had been in touch with Rafael the previous weekend, and that she had discovered that Lily had been seen with Oglethorpe at the fair, which thoroughly upset Oscar.Likewise, Kris was affronted and absolutely up in arms, and it seemed likely Stefan would be as well once the news reached his residence.Neal, on the other hand, rather resembled Iliya in that assured the others it was much ado about nothing, much to Credence’s chagrin.On a somewhat similar note, Ethan also opted for the apathetic approach.’

Things had gone from there.Suddenly, words which had previous seemed unlikely to ever pass between them could be said, provided they were delivered through this silently agreed-upon medium.Something about the anonymity and the ambiguity of the whole process made it easier to speak, easier to let the statements go forth.After all, neither of them ever really said much of anything.It was all about what they each saw.A series of textual pictures, ostensibly abstract, where the meaning rested in the eye of the beholder just as much as the artist’s brush.Roy began to wonder why they had never tried anything of the sort previously, before he came to the realization that it wouldn’t have worked out as well, if at all, if it had happened any earlier.In fact, he decided it probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere if he had tried it before the Promised Day.They wouldn’t have been ready.Or willing.It had taken coming face to face with the hollow future they feared to push them to the point where they could manage something even this indirect.Some things never came comfortably.He was prepared to weather the wait though, however long it might be.

And so, on the day in early fall when Roy strode into his desert office (as he had taken to calling it in conversations with Riza), he was expecting a slip of paper to be stuck in his desk.The frequency of their ‘correspondences’ had increased, to the point where they occurred almost every day.He had ‘written’ her yesterday.

He wasn’t disappointed.There was indeed a small tuft of white sticking out from his desk drawer.As usual, he slipped it into his pocket, to be read later than evening.On this particular occasion, that habit turned out to be especially beneficial, in that it preserved Roy’s dignity.It also prevented anyone else from witnessing a truly unprecedented event, something which those familiar with Brigadier General Roy Mustang would have deemed an illusion of some sort, due to how impossible it seemed: Roy Mustang gasping.And not a subtle, understated sort of gasp.The sort of gasp where the intake of breath seemed to fill the room, even as it drew air out of it.

The paper trembled within Roy’s suddenly unsteady grasp for a few seconds, before it fell from his hand and drifted down to lie atop the sheets at his side, the ink on it exposed, its secret running through his mind, setting his synapses alight like an eager arsonist.

The paragraph revealed was on the longer side.The characters present were familiar, though this particular anecdote seemed a little more drawn out than they often were, as if the author hadn’t wanted to rush to a conclusion, more content to reach it in due time.

‘Did I mention that Iliya gave me a call yesterday?She asked if I wanted to go out for dinner with Lily and she.I thought it over for a little while, but in the end, I agreed.We debated where to go for some time, but ended up settling on Orlando’s.I’ve always appreciated their garlic scampi, and my friend Veronica insists that their penne all’arrabbiata is to die for, although I personally don’t quite share her penchant for the spice.Ethan’s preference for their ricotta tortelli is another testament to their quality.As I expected, the meal turned out quite nicely.The food was delicious as always, and the conversation was intriguing.We discussed some of the finer points of epistle crafting.It really is a curious and fascinating topic once you dive into it.Our conversation went nearly uninterrupted for the better portion of an hour, until we spotted Yuri arriving alongside Oscar.They said hello, and explained that they were meeting Uriel for dinner.It was amusing to find that we all shared a common interest in the restaurant, and happened to make the same selection unintentionally.It is somewhat odd, don’t you think?How people can share such preferences or interests, and yet never make them known to one another?It seems to me as if a considerable amount of confusion could be cleared away if individuals made an effort to communicate at least the important things.Wouldn’t you agree?’


End file.
